A Weekend in the Hamptons
by RileyAngel
Summary: Noah Puckerman had a tough decision: protect his best friend's reputation or stop a gossip-mongering TV show from invading his ex-wife's wedding…especially since he was still in love with her, himself.
1. Chapter 1

**A Weekend in the Hamptons**. Noah Puckerman had a tough decision: protect his best friend's reputation or stop a gossip-mongering TV show from invading his ex-wife's wedding…especially since he was still in love with her, himself.

* * *

"The Philadelphia Story" is a play (and movie) about the wedding of a wealthy divorcee to a stuffy "man of the people" and the hijinks that ensue when a reporter and photographer from "Spy Magazine" descend upon the wedding in return for not running a scandalous story about an affair between the young woman's father and a showgirl. The film is a classic; Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant were brilliant as the ex-spouses, and James Stewart won an Academy Award for his performance as the writer. The supporting cast included Ruth Hussey as the sardonic photographer and Virginia Weidler as the precocious pre-teen sister.

In any case, I've loosely borrowed the plot, fitting it within the context of the "Glee" universe, so if you've seen the movie, you already know how it ends (and if you haven't, I'd highly recommend it). Philip Barry wrote the play, and the "Glee" characters belong to Ryan Murphy and Company. As ever, plot alterations and OCs are mine; names were picked randomly and do not reflect on any "real people" who may coincidentally share them.

* * *

Chapter 1

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Ben-Israel? What's Blaine Anderson ever done to you?"

"Nothing at all, Mr. Puckerman," Jacob Ben-Israel retorted from behind his large oak desk, his mouth contorted somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "Consider it leverage; we want in at your ex's wedding, and I'll do anything to ensure that, even at the expense of Anderson's career."

"Come on, Ben-Israel, have a heart, here…Rachel doesn't deserve this, and neither does Blaine." Noah looked directly into the shorter man's eyes, volunteering, "If you have to pick on someone, pick on me. I was in that video, too…"

"Puckerman, Puckerman…" Jacob mused. "Let's face it; you're 'old news'. Nobody would be shocked that _you_ appeared in a porno…Hell, they'd probably expect it. But, Blaine…" and Jacob air-quoted "…'squeaky clean host of a top-rated kiddie show' Anderson…well, that's another story, entirely. I'm sure you see my point."

Noah sat down, left arm resting on the armrest. Lowering his head slightly, he raised his forearm until his left hand covered his face as he shook his head ruefully, remembering the incident…

 _It had been Junior year of college. He, Rachel Berry (his girlfriend), Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Santana Lopez, Tina Cohen-Chang, and Dave Ellison (Tina's boyfriend at the time) were chilling out in Blaine's apartment, passing around a joint and a bottle of wine as they unwound after completing their midterms. The radio was set on an "oldies" station, providing a muted soundtrack to their gathering. When Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" began, Tina burst into a fit of giggles as she cried out "O-M-G…You guys! I have the best idea…let's…make…a_ _porno_ _…"_

" _I don't think the world is ready for all_ _this_ _," Santana smugly announced, preening as she tossed her hair over her shoulder._

" _I don't know…" Rachel pondered, considering the suggestion. Although she hadn't smoked (protecting her vocal cords), she'd been drinking, and, by now, she'd developed a contact high and was almost as "toasted" as her friends. "As an actress, it might be a good experience…as long as it stays between us."_

 _Before she could unbutton the first button on her blouse, Noah territorially intervened: "Sorry, Baby, but 'the Puckster' doesn't share." His arm tightened around her, and he proposed, "Maybe you can be the director…"_

" _Oh, goody," Rachel exclaimed, grinning widely, "I've always wanted to direct. I can add this to my resume'…"_

" _Diva, trust me; you will_ _not_ _want this anywhere near your resume'", Kurt gently reminded her._

" _I suppose…" she pouted._

 _By 3AM the following morning, they had a largely improvised, poorly acted, relatively tame (and extremely silly) little film that showed some full-frontal nudity, a modicum of kissing between Kurt and Blaine (expected) and Santana, Tina, and her boyfriend (unexpected), and not much else. They would occasionally pull it out at parties and laugh about their college exploits._

It had never seen the light of day…until now.

Noah looked up, questioning, "How the Hell did you get your hands on that, anyway, Ben-Israel? That was private property…none of my friends would _ever_ …"

"I'm sure they're loyal to a fault, Puckerman," Jacob snidely placated. "Have you ever considered someone who _wasn't_ your friend?"

"Tina's rat-bastard ex-boyfriend!" Noah cried out, suddenly realizing where the leak came from.

"I'm not revealing my sources," Jacob smugly replied. "Let's just say that I have the evidence and leave it at that. Now, either "Spy TV" has full access to the wedding, or the story goes public." He looked at Noah impatiently, prodding, "It's now or never, Puckerman. Your ex-wife's privacy, or your friend's career…"

"I'll talk to Rachel," Noah reluctantly acquiesced.

"Good," Jacob replied. "I'm sure you made a wise decision. Give me a minute, I'll call my team in so you can meet them." He pressed a button on his desk phone, lifted the receiver and spoke into it, "Yes, Ms. Zizes…Please send Fabray and Evans to my office immediately."

"I've agreed to your terms; may I have the disc, please?" Noah requested, his hand outstretched.

"Leverage, Mr. Puckerman, leverage," Jacob reminded him. "You'll get it back once I have my story. And, if I must say so myself, it was quite a disappointment. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair Ms. Berry…"

"Do not _ever_ even _think_ about her like that, you slimeball," Noah hotly cautioned, "or my fist will be having a meeting with your face."

"Temper, temper, Puckerman," Jacob cautioned, grinning slyly. "It's obvious you still have feelings for the lady; this wedding ought to prove even better fodder for my little 'gossip gristmill' than I originally imagined."

A knock on the door stopped Noah's reply. "Enter!" Jacob called out. The door opened, and a woman and man came into the office. "Have a seat, won't you?" Jacob invited, gesturing to two empty chairs next to Noah.

The first to sit down was a woman; blonde, slim, and attractive. In the seat next to her, a young man with a boyish face and a toned physique settled himself.

"May I introduce Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans," Jacob handled the introductions. "Quin is one of our top reporters, and Sam is as unobtrusive as a cameraman can be. Quinn and Sam, this is Noah Puckerman…"

"Say, aren't you 'Puck'?" Sam queried, shaking Noah's hand. "I was at one of your concerts a couple of years ago. It was pretty wild..."

"Yeah…well…I used to be," Noah admitted. "I've cleaned up my act and I've dropped the persona, but thanks for attending. I hope you enjoyed it."

"I did, actually," Sam admitted. "Your band put on a good show."

"Well, I'm sure you're always happy to meet a fan, Puckerman," Jacob interjected, "but I've got 'bigger fish to fry' today. If you'll give me the address, you can expect my team there first thing tomorrow. That'll give them a couple of days to gather background information before the wedding." He paused, looking Noah directly in the eyes before continuing, "Oh, and thanks, Puckerman, for making this so easy."

"Yeah…whatever…" Noah glumly conceded, taking the piece of paper that Jacob handed him. He hastily scrawled the address of his (former) home in the Hamptons and passed it back to its originator. Standing up, he announced, "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you both tomorrow," and walked out of the office.

As he made his way to the elevator, he mused, " _Holy shit…I'd better get my ass over there and warn Rach before the vultures descend…_ "

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Like the proverbial "bad penny", I'm back. ;-)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Yes, yes; _pink_ hydrangeas and _white_ orchids…" Rachel confirmed into the phone. "…tea roses sound lovely…yes, they'll be on either side of the chuppa…chuppa… _canopy_ …" she clarified, rolling her eyes. She might not be marrying a Jewish man, but she'd be damned if she didn't have a primarily Jewish ceremony, even if her fiancé was reluctant to comply.

Ending the call, Rachel jotted down something in a spiral notebook as Debbie Puckerman walked out onto the patio, where Rachel was resting on a chaise lounge and enjoying the afternoon sun as she conducted her business. Gently smiling, she wordlessly handed Rachel a glass of iced tea. Rachel glanced up to accept it, acknowledging, "Thanks, Mom!"

"You're welcome, honey," Debbie replied. She sat down on a nearby chair and informed her, "Noah's on his way, Rachel; he'll be here shortly."

Rachel's eyes widened. "What's he coming for?" she testily queried. "I'm getting married on Sunday; even _he_ knows that…"

"He told me he'd explain when he got here," Debbie patiently replied. "After all," she continued with a soft smile, "It serves you right for getting custody of his mother and sister in the divorce."

"Mom, this is your house too," Rachel reminded her. "I had no intention of asking you to leave when Noah chose our apartment in the City as part of the settlement. Just because the marriage didn't work out, you're still family…"

"Thank you, dear. We do appreciate it," Debbie confirmed. "Given the circumstances, you have to expect my son to come around from time to time…"

"Yes…I suppose…" Rachel conceded with a small sigh.

By the forlorn expression that briefly graced Rachel's face, Debbie thought " _She still loves him. Maybe there's hope, yet…_ " Taking a sip of her own coffee, Debbie commented, "I'm just sorry you two couldn't work things out…"

Rachel's expression hardened. She explained, "Mom, we've been over this before. I just couldn't take it anymore. If I got one more call from G-d knows where…if Blaine and Kurt had to drag him out of a bar, drunk off his ass, one more time, I think my head would've exploded. I was fed up with the partying…the whole 'rock and roll' lifestyle…just...so done…"

"He's clean and sober now, honey," Debbie reminded her. "He spent three months in rehab and another six in a sober living facility. He joined AA and disbanded the group. He's a changed man, Rachel. Maybe you could give him another chance…" she hesitantly suggested.

"That's wonderful, Mom, and I'm truly happy for him. I've moved on, and I met a man who doesn't drink, who respects me…it's refreshing, Mom," Rachel confided. "I can't go back to worrying and wondering when he'll slip back. I don't trust him to stay sober, Mom…and without trust, there's nothing. I only wish Noah the best, you know that."

"Yes, dear; I understand," Debbie acknowledged.

The two women sipped their beverages, each in quiet contemplation. A few minutes later, the silence was broken by the sound of a car pulling up, the door opening and closing, and a small horn blast indicating that the car alarm had been set.

"We're out here, dear," Debbie called out.

Noah entered through the gate, latching it behind him. He approached his mother and bent down. She raised her face toward him and they kissed. "It's good to see you, son."

"You, too, Ma," Noah agreed as he walked toward Rachel. "Mornin' Rach," he greeted.

"Good morning yourself, Noah," Rachel politely replied.

Noah bent down to kiss Rachel in a similar manner as his mother, but she turned her face, giving him access only to her cheek. As such, she didn't see the hurt look momentarily wash over his handsome features.

Noticing the light bouncing off Rachel's left hand, he commented, "Nice rock…"

Extending her left arm to admire the substantial bauble currently adorning her ring finger, Rachel smugly replied, "Thank you, Noah; Sebastian has _excellent_ taste."

Before Noah could reply, Debbie hastily offered, "Noah, dear, can I get you something to eat?"

"Thanks, Ma; that'll be great," Noah accepted.

Debbie stood up, leaving the area and entering the house through the French doors. Noah pulled up a chair and sat down next to Rachel.

"What's going on, Noah?" Rachel dryly inquired.

"You're lookin' great, Rach," Noah hopefully complimented.

"Thank you Noah. I appreciate the compliment, but flattery will get you nowhere," Rachel dryly responded. "Now, please; what is it? In case you've forgotten, I'm getting married on Sunday, so say what you've come here to say before Seb gets here...and make yourself scarce when he does."

"Honestly, Rach, why you're marrying that douche is beyond my comprehension," Noah bluntly remarked.

"Really, Noah, is _that_ it?" Rachel snapped. "If you must know, he's a gentleman who _respects_ me and treats me like a queen, not some _overgrown_ , _over-sexed_ _man-child_ who's on a first name basis with all the bartenders in the greater Manhattan area."

"Rachel, I've been clean for close to a year, now, and I'm never going down that road again," Noah quietly averred.

"I'm glad to hear that, Noah," Rachel sincerely replied.

"And…as for the over-sexed part," he continued, grinning slyly, "you never complained…and you were always a pretty active participant, as I recall."

Rachel blushed, glancing away momentarily to regain her composure. Taking a cleansing breath, she faced Noah squarely, steering back to the original topic, "Noah, unless you came her to cast disparaging remarks about my fiancé, which, if that's the case, I'd appreciate it if you'd just be on your way, please…why are you here?

"Um…well…" Noah hesitated.

"Out with it, Noah," Rachel impatiently prodded. "I have a million things to do today."

"Rachel, do you remember that stupid sex tape we made back at NYU?" he asked.

"Yeah…kinda…" she haltingly admitted. "Why?"

"Well...Jacob Ben-Israel got his sweaty paws on it, and he's threatening to go public and ruin Blaine's career," he confessed.

"Oh my G-d, Noah…that's awful!" Rachel's eyes were filled with compassion for her friend as she volunteered, "What can I do?"

"Here's the thing, Rach…Ben-Israel will only hand over the disc if you agree to let his crew cover your wedding," Noah explained.

"WHAT?" Rachel cried out. "There is _no way_ …there must be something else…Seb would never allow it…he has no idea…I…I could never tell him…" she lamented.

"Rachel, you aren't even _in_ it," Noah reminded her. "So what if Mr. 'treats me like a queen' knows about it? We were a bunch of stoned 20-year-olds…it's really no big deal."

"'No big deal'?" Rachel repeated. "Noah, you don't understand, Seb's not like that. He's extremely conservative. He never did anything like that, ever; I'm sure of it."

"How old is he? Eighty?" Noah retorted.

"No, he just turned 29, if you must know," Rachel answered. "He was raised with very traditional values and high moral standards…I mean…" Rachel stopped herself.

"Rachel, are you telling me that you haven't slept with him?" Noah incredulously interjected. "Don't you think that's extremely…um…odd?"

Rachel rolled her eyes, primly responding, "Not that this is any of your business, Noah, but, since you brought it up, I find it charming…and refreshing…that he wants to wait until the wedding night to consummate our relationship."

Although Noah was secretly pleased that Rachel hadn't been intimate, he did find the situation more than a little bizarre. " _Definitely something wrong with this guy…better look into it…gotta protect Rach…_ " he mused before he replied, "What you do or _don't_ do between the sheets is none of my business, Rachel. Blaine is my best friend. He literally saved my life; he got me into rehab and he was with me every step of the way…"

"I'm extremely aware of that, Noah," Rachel patiently acknowledged. "Kurt's been my best friend since high school, and I love Blaine like a brother. He enjoyed the stage, but this TV show is his passion."

"You wouldn't want him to lose everything…would you, Rachel?" Noah implored.

Rachel sighed, dejectedly replying, "I suppose not." She paused before reluctantly agreeing, "OK, Noah. Go ahead. I'll tell Sebastian that they're the videographers. He's not much of a TV watcher. Hopefully, he'll never find out…"

"Find out _what_ , Muffin?" Sebastian Smythe cheerfully inquired, leaning in to kiss Rachel lightly on the cheek.

"What my wedding dress looks like," Rachel hastily lied. "You know…" she (overly-) cheerfully continued, "It's bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony."

"Yes, my dear, I agree," Sebastian concurred. Noticing Noah for the first time, he testily inquired, "What's _he_ doing here, Rachel?"

"Noah came to visit his mother, Seb," Rachel patiently explained. "Sebastian Smythe, Noah Puckerman. Noah, Sebastian." Noah stood as she introduced the two men, who reluctantly shook hands, eyeing each other contemptuously.

"I'd better see what's keeping Ma," Noah remarked. "Rachel's a wonderful woman; you're a lucky man, Sebastian." With that, Noah exited the same way as his mother had a few minutes before.

"I don't like you seeing him," Sebastian cautioned.

"You have nothing to worry about," Rachel placated. "He's bound to be here from time to time, that's just the way it is. I've made my peace with it…"

"Alright, Muffin," Sebastian acquiesced (Rachel internally cringing at the nickname). "I just don't like you associating with people who could be a bad influence."

"Again…nothing to worry about," Rachel confirmed. "Now, let me tell you about the flowers…"

* * *

Once inside his former home and out of his mother's earshot, Noah placed a phone call.

" _Abrams Detective agency…Sugar Motta speaking…_ "

" _Sugar, put me through to Artie, please…I have a job for him…_ "

* * *

 **Author's Note** : A chuppa (the "ch" is guttural) is the canopy that a bride and groom stand under during a traditional Jewish wedding ceremony. It symbolizes the home that they will establish together.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Mr. Abrams will see you now," Sugar informed Noah, escorting him into an office.

"Artie, thanks for meeting me so late," Noah acknowledged, "I owe ya' one…" Artie rolled his wheelchair over to Noah, where they exchanged a firm handshake.

"Puck, it's barely 5:30, and you said it was important. I'm always available to a friend," Artie cordially replied. "Now, tell me; what's going on?"

Seating himself in a guest chair, Noah began, "It's about Rachel…"

"Wait; I thought you guys were divorced," Artie pondered.

"Yeah, we are," Noah concurred. "That really doesn't matter. She's gotten herself mixed up with this douchebag, and something doesn't feel right about him," he elucidated.

"Sure it's not jealousy?" Artie suggested.

"I wish it was that simple," Noah responded. "No, something's just…I don't know…'off' about him. He seems almost too controlled, like he's hiding something. Not to mention, he dresses like an L.L. Bean catalog threw up on him."

"Maybe he's just a 'buttoned up' kinda guy…like…the 'anti-Puck'…" Artie observed.

"That may be true," Noah conceded. "I'll tell ya', Bro; I met a lot of shady people when I was on tour, and I got so I could spot 'em a mile away." He paused, looking Artie directly in the eyes, continuing, "I got the same feeling as soon as we shook hands. I just wanna make sure that Rach's not setting herself up for some opportunist who's in it only because she's 'Rachel Berry, award winning actress'. She deserves way better than that…Hell, she deserved way better than me, and he's _not_ …I'm positive of that."

"Well, Puck, you've convinced me," Artie concurred. "What's the guy's name?"

"Sebastian…Smythe…see, even his _name_ sounds phony," Noah commented. "I took his picture from the house. It's not the best, but it's something, anyway. I'll send it to you." Noah transferred the picture, and a light "ding" from Artie's phone signified that it was received.

"Where does he live?" Artie inquired.

"I think in the City; I'm not sure, but it's a good place to start," Noah answered. "The wedding's on Sunday, so he can't be too far away."

"Sunday?" Artie interjected. "That's barely _three days_ from now. You're sure cutting it close, Puck…"

"You're one of the best, man. I know you'll figure it out," Noah assured him.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Puck," Artie responded. "Being 'the guy in the wheelchair' is a great cover for someone in my line of work." Artie picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Sugar, Mr. Puckerman will be leaving shortly. Please take his down payment and explain the costs associated with our services." He paused thoughtfully before continuing, "Oh, and Sugar? We'll be closing up after this…we're going out tonight."

* * *

It was barely dawn on Friday morning when Noah found himself on the road heading back to the Hamptons. He hoped his early arrival would ensure that he was on hand to diffuse what would be at best an awkward situation. Knowing Rachel, there was no way to be sure how she'd respond to her "guests".

Upon his arrival, Noah stood on his former front porch and awkwardly rang the doorbell; although Rachel never changed the locks, he felt uncomfortable letting himself in. A moment later, he was greeted by his 22-year-old sister, Rebecca, who happily cried out "Noey!" and pulled him into a sisterly bear hug.

"Becs! What're you doin' here?" he happily queried, teasing, "I thought you'd be at school, making the world a better place for dogs and cats." Currently, Rebecca was studying Veterinary Medicine at Michigan State University. Growing up, she had done her best (against her mother's ongoing objections) to make the Puckerman residence a halfway house for every stray animal in the greater Allen County area, and her career choice was a natural progression.

Pulling back a bit, he looked her over, puzzling, "And what the Hell are you wearing?"

Rebecca laughed, primarily in response to her attire: a black pencil skirt and tailored white blouse with plain black high-heeled pumps, her hair pulled back in a tight chignon. "Well," she replied, "I'm here for Rachel's wedding and school's on break." Noting his slightly dismayed expression, she reminded him, "Rachel's my friend and I'm here to support her…even if I don't agree with what she's doing. Oh, my outfit…" she paused, now reacting to the remainder of his query and grinning broadly as she concluded, "well…Rachel asked me to wear this."

"Does she have something cooked up for those reporters?" Noah cautiously queried.

"You'll have to wait and see, big brother; my lips are sealed," Rebecca responded slyly.

Noah's incredulous expression prompted his sister to remind him, "Rach's an _actress_ , Noah. She's just gonna give 'em 'a taste of their own medicine'. Just…well…if I were you, I'd keep my opinions to myself. Now, play it cool, or you'll have to leave."

While Noah and Rebecca were catching up with each other, a car pulled up the circular driveway and parked at the bend closest to the front door. Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans, the reporter and videographer from "Spy TV", opened their respective car doors, exited the vehicle, closed the doors and looked around at the grounds.

" _So_ _this_ _must be how the other half lives_ ," Quin muttered to herself as she took in the house and its surroundings.

"Kinda rich for my blood," Sam observed. "D'ya think I should grab my camera and take a look around…ya' know, get some background footage?"

"Sorry, Sam; we can't do anything until she signs a release," Quinn reminded him. "Now, be a lamb and get the suitcases. We can figure out how we're gonna shoot this, later."

Sam pulled their luggage from the trunk, commenting, "Woman, we're only gonna be here two nights; we're not moving in…"

"Well, it was very gracious of Ms. Berry to let us stay here, and I wanted to be prepared for anything," Quinn explained. "Honestly, if the tables were turned, I don't think I'd be so accommodating."

"I s'pose…" Sam agreed as he gathered his duffle bag and suit and Quinn's suitcase and dress bag. "Quinn, do me a favor and take your tote; I'm maxed, here…"

"Of course, Sam," Quinn graciously replied, picking up her small(er) bag before heading up to the house and ringing the bell, an overloaded Sam following behind.

After waiting a minute or so, Rebecca opened the door, coolly asking "May I help you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Um…yes…is Ms. Berry at home?" Quinn cautiously inquired.

"Yes, she is," Rebecca replied with a supercilious air. "And you would be…"

"I'm Quinn Fabray and this is Sam Evans," Quin replied, Sam nodding in greeting at the mention of his name. "Ms. Berry is expecting us."

"I am Ms. Berry's assistant," she introduced herself, continuing, "Mr. Puckerman arrived earlier and mentioned that you'd be arriving. Come," she gestured, "I'll take you to him. Ms. Berry will join you shortly."

Leaving their luggage in the foyer, Rebecca led them to a sun-filled room that was dominated by a baby grand piano. There was seating in the form of a sofa and several chairs, and against one wall was a display case featuring Rachel's awards and recognitions for her work. Noah was currently seated at the piano, softly playing an unrecognizable melody. Sensing their presence, he ceased his activity and stood up, facing his sister and the "Spy TV" employees. "I see ya' got here OK," he noted.

"Yes, there's something to be said for a GPS…" Quinn alluded with a hesitant smile.

"Ms. Berry will be down in a few minutes," Rebecca unemotionally reminded them. "May I get iced tea for everyone?"

Stifling a smile, with as straight a face as he could muster, Noah replied, "Thank you, Rebecca. I'm sure that will be fine…" He glanced at Quinn and Sam, who nodded wordlessly in agreement, and Rebecca turned abruptly and exited the room.

"Boy, she's all business," Sam commented once Rebecca was out of earshot.

"Yeah…business…" Noah agreed, thinking " _More like she's_ _giving_ _you the business…_ "

As if on cue, Rachel entered the room. She was dressed in a dramatic red lounging robe that fastened at the neck and tied at the waist, its hem nearly touching the floor and almost giving her the appearance of floating as she gracefully moved toward her guests.

"Welcome to my humble home," she greeted them with dulcet tones. Standing in front of Quinn, she probed, "And you are?"

Noah interjected, "Rachel this is Quinn Fabray; Quinn, Rachel Berry." Quinn outstretched her hand to exchange a proper handshake, but Rachel merely took her hand by the first joint of their fingers, smiled, and commented, "Charming; simply charming. You're a pretty one, Ms. Fabray. Have you ever considered acting?"

"Well, I…" Quinn began, but was immediately interrupted by Rachel, whose attention suddenly switched to Sam.

"And you, you handsome devil; what's your name?" she practically purred.

Noah had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. "Rachel, this is Sam Evans; Sam, Rachel Berry."

"A pleasure, Ms. Berry," Sam stated, mesmerized.

"Oh…please call me Rachel, Mr. Evans," she flirted.

"OK, Rachel," Sam agreed, "If you call me Sam."

"But, of course," Rachel approved, smiling seductively.

"Now, Rachel…" Quinn started to discuss the terms of the agreement when she was stopped abruptly by Rachel.

" _Excuse me_ , did I give _you_ permission to call me Rachel?" she challenged, her voice suddenly icy.

"Well, I assumed…" Quin hesitantly replied.

"Oh, well…do you know what they say about 'assume', Ms. Fabray?" Rachel posed.

Quin shook her head, saying nothing.

Rachel smiled ever so slightly as she explained, "Well, my dear, ' _assume_ ' makes an _ass_ of _you_ and _me_ …and quite frankly, _nobody_ makes an ass of Rachel Berry. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Fabray?"

"Crystal, Ms. Berry," Quinn answered meekly.

"Good," Rachel ended the conversational topic just as Rebecca entered with a tray of iced tea already poured into individual glasses. She let Rachel select first and was in process of serving the others when Rachel called out in an angry voice, " _Rebecca_!"

"Yes, Ms. Berry," Rebecca emotionlessly replied.

"Rebecca, _dear_ …how many ice cubes do I like in my iced tea?" Rachel queried.

"Um…four, Ms. Berry?" Rebecca timidly answered.

"Correct," Rachel affirmed. "And how many ice cubes does this drink contain?" she angrily inquired.

Rebecca placed the tray down, walked over to Rachel and counted the ice cubes, answering, "Um…five?"

"Correct again, Rebecca; there are _five_ ice cubes, not _four_ ," Rachel coldly agreed. "Now…" she practically shoved the glass into the girl's face, commanding "Bring me another glass, post haste, with…how many ice cubes?"

"Four, Ms. Berry," Rebecca dejectedly replied.

"Yes, and make it snappy. Time is money, you know," Rachel demanded.

Rebecca scurried out of the room, ostensibly to procure a more acceptable beverage. Rachel turned to face her company, noting their expressions: Quinn appeared aghast, Sam, confused, and Noah looked like he was struggling to keep it together and retain a neutral expression.

"It's _so hard_ to find good help these days," Rachel confided to no one in particular. She regally settled herself on the sofa, inviting, "Please, everyone sit down." She patted the sofa near her, offering, "You may sit here, Sam." She nodded to the nearest chair and requested, "Ms. Fabray, please take this chair." While Quinn approached the chair, Rachel looked at Noah and dryly added, "Noah, sit…wherever…" as she gestured toward the seating.

Rather than join the others, Noah opted to remain standing, moving back just a bit to make his presence less intrusive (as well as giving him an unobstructed view to what was rapidly becoming one of Rachel's more entertaining performances).

Rebecca reentered the room and hastily handed a glass of iced tea to Rachel, who proceeded to count the ice cubes. Satisfied that there were the appropriate amount, she smiled and acknowledged, "Thank you, Rebecca."

"You're welcome, Ms. Berry," Rebecca politely (and relatively emotionlessly) replied, resuming her serving duties and, once everyone had a glass, walking to the piano and perching gingerly on the bench, facing toward the others.

"Now, Ms. Fabray, you were saying…" Rachel prompted, initiating the conversation.

"Ms. Berry, if I may get some background information; how did you meet…" Quinn was again cut off mid-sentence.

"So, tell me, my dear, how did you _ever_ get into your profession?" Rachel inquired.

"Well, I received my journalism degree from USC, and…" Quinn trailed off as Rachel nodded her head in an interested manner.

"Oh, _do_ go on, Ms. Fabray," Rachel prodded, "USC, you say? I've heard it has a _lovely_ campus..."

"Well..." Quinn started up again before stopping abruptly, asking, "Say, who's interviewing who, anyway?"

"Why, _you_ are interviewing _me_ , of course, Ms. Fabray. Now, you were saying…" Rachel prompted Quinn yet again.

Before Quinn could utter another word, Rachel, looking directly at Sam, proposing, "Would you like me to sing for you?"

"Yeah; that would be awesome, Ms. Berry," Sam answered.

"Rachel…" she teased.

"Sorry, _Rachel_ ," Sam corrected, adding, "It would be great to hear you sing, Rachel."

(Knowing that Rachel always liked to document her performances, coupled with his suspicion that this would be worth capturing, Noah raised his cellphone and began recording.) "Well," Rachel replied, "then it will be my pleasure to oblige. Rebecca," she nodded to the young woman, "would you please accompany me?"

Rebecca turned around to face the piano. She moved the bench closer and lifted the cover to expose the keys. Rachel stood up and walked over to the piano. Rebecca played a glissando and launched into a few bars of the overture from "Wicked", and then transitioned to the introduction to "Defying Gravity". Before Rachel launched into the expected piece, the melody changed abruptly, and Rachel sang, instead:

" _Oh…Lydia, oh Lydia, say, have you met Lydia?  
Lydia The Tattooed Lady.  
She has eyes that folks adore so,  
and a torso even more so.  
Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia;  
Lydia, The Queen of Tattoo.  
On her back is The Battle of Waterloo,  
Beside it, the Wreck of the Hesperus, too.  
And proudly above waves the red, white, and blue…  
You can learn a lot from Lydia!"_

" _La-la-la...la-la-la.  
La-la-la...la-la-la.  
La! La!_"

Upon the final " _La! La!_ ", Rachel opened her robe and let it fall to the ground, pooling at her feet. Aside from a barely-there red bikini that showed off her lithe figure, she was apparently covered in tattoos from her chest to her ankles.

"What do you think?" she naively inquired, arms gently outstretched as she did a slow, complete turn, displaying her body art.

Sam's eyes popped open, and he muttered " _Whoa…_ ", a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

Noticing the other man's obvious interest, Noah ceased filming and exclaimed, "Rachel, what the Hell! Please…get dressed…"

" _Spoken like a jealous husband…_ " Quin thought, mentally filing her observation for the time being.

Smiling smugly, Rachel obliged, picking up her robe and tying it at the waist, leaving the top button undone.

"Ms. Berry," Quinn sputtered, "I'm sorry…I…I don't understand…"

"Well, Ms. Fabray, since you have insisted on turning my special day into a _circus_ , I thought the least I could do was oblige. If you'd like, I can rent an elephant for the ceremony…there's still time…" Rachel paused, looking expectantly at an obviously flustered Quinn Fabray.

"Look, Ms. Berry…" Quin started to speak

Without artifice, Rachel interjected, "Rachel will be fine, thanks," rescinding her original request.

"Rachel, then," Quinn corrected herself. "Anyway, I'm truly sorry. We're just doing our job here, and we'll try to make it an enjoyable experience."

"Enjoyable?" Rachel pondered. "How can I enjoy my wedding knowing full well it's going to be dissected on national television?"

"Well, then, we'll make it as painless as possible," Quinn corrected herself. "Now," she paused briefly, reaching into her large handbag and withdrawing a manila envelope, then continued, "I have a release for you to sign so we can get started."

"I never sign anything without my attorney present," Rachel confirmed. "Santana," she called out, "can you come in, please?"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : "Lydia, the Tattooed Lady" was written in 1939 by the songwriting team of Harold Arlen and E.Y. "Yip" Harburg, who also gave us that timeless classic "Over the Rainbow", which debuted the same year. The song was first performed in the 1939 film "At the Circus" by the one…the only…Groucho Marx. It is probably his second-most associated song (after "Hooray for Captain Spaulding"…who is also mentioned in this, as apparently "Lydia" has a tattoo of "Captain Spaulding exploring the Amazon").

In "The Philadelphia Story", "Dinah Lord" sings this (first) verse of the song, presumably to shock the people from "Spy Magazine", so consider this an homage to that famous scene in the movie. It's available on YouTube, if you're interested…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Santana Lopez, wearing an impeccably tailored black suit, swept into the room. "That was _hot_ , Berry!" she suggestively remarked, smirking broadly as she approached Rachel and exchanging a kiss once she had reached her destination. "You should seriously consider 'tatting up', girl!"

"I'll take that under consideration, San," Rachel sardonically acknowledged her friend's request. "It's almost a shame to wash it off," she admitted with a small sigh. "Unique spent close to three hours getting me, as you say, 'tatted up'." Returning to the matter that brought Santana in the first place, Rachel introduced her to the two strangers, who nodded in greeting: "Quinn Fabray, Sam Evans; please meet my attorney, Santana Lopez. San, these are the reporters I mentioned. And, of course, you know Noah…"

"Hey, Puck; long time, no see!" Santana exclaimed, setting her briefcase down and approaching Puck, kissing him on the cheek. She backed up a bit and looked him over, complimenting, "Looking a Hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. We should get together for dri…oops, sorry, man…" she apologized for her faux pas.

Noah chuckled, explaining, "That's OK, San; I'm not offended. We can still go out for drinks; I just don't order anything with alcohol anymore."

"Cool; we'll talk later," Santana suggested. Leaving Noah, she moved toward the empty chair nearest her briefcase, sat down, and bruskly requested, "May I see the contract, please?"

Quinn handed the document to Santana, who carefully reviewed it. Upon finishing, she placed it on a nearby end table and announced (in her best "courtroom" persona), "If you will excuse us, I'd like to confer with my client for a few minutes." Quinn nodded wordlessly and Rachel and Santana rose simultaneously and left the room. 10 minutes (or so) later, they returned and faced the others.

"My client will sign only with the following stipulations," Santana stated, elucidating, "One: there will be no identifiable pictures of or interviews with guests, officiants, or staff without their written consent. Two: there will be no filming of the exterior or interior of the house." She paused, looking directly into Quinn's eyes, explaining, "For my client's safety, we don't want to encourage mentally unstable fans from searching for her home, and, quite frankly, it's nobody's business what she owns or how she chooses to live." Making her point, she continued, "Three: filming of the marriage ceremony will be from a distance of no closer than 20 feet. There will be no microphones or cameras directly in their faces, disrupting an otherwise sacred rite of passage."

Completing Rachel's requirements, Santana again focused on the reporter, concluding, "If you agree to these terms, you will produce an addendum for the contract, email it to me, I will print it, and my client will then sign. Here's my email address," she completed her instructions, handing a business card to Quinn.

"My boss was promised we'd have full access to the wedding," Quin hesitantly reminded them.

"You will," Santana confirmed. "You may film the wedding ceremony; keeping a respectful distance is all my client requests. If any guests are willing to sign a waiver, you may interview them. I'm certain that your boss wouldn't want to put Ms. Berry's safety at risk by including footage that could easily identify the property. This isn't Graceland; it's not a tourist destination or a paparazzi magnet, and my client prefers to keep it that way."

Realizing that she had (a) no choice in the matter and (b) was currently not in a position to lose her job, Quinn complied, and, within the half hour, Rachel reluctantly signed her privacy away. She handed the document to Quinn, who accepted it: "Thank you, Rachel. I promise, you won't regret it."

"I'm already regretting it," Rachel honestly commented. "However, a bargain is a bargain, and sometimes, I guess one has to make a 'deal with the devil' in the name of friendship."

"Well, I appreciate your cooperation," Quinn acknowledged.

Changing the subject, Rachel announced, "Brunch has been set up in the dining room. I'm going to take a shower, and I'll join you shortly." She paused, glancing at Noah and requesting, "Noah, if you'd show them the way, please… _that is_ , if you still remember…"

"I remember just fine, thank you, Rachel," Noah testily confirmed.

"Glad your memory's still intact," Rachel dryly commented.

"Apparently, your attitude is, too," Noah retorted.

"Well, what do you expect…" Rachel snapped.

"Children, now, behave, or 'Auntie San' will take your toys away," Santana sardonically interjected. "Play nice in front of the _company_ , you two," she reminded them.

"Yes…well…" Rachel gathered herself, resuming the original topic, "Once we've eaten, I'll see that you're settled in your rooms. We have a beautiful pool, and you're welcome to go swimming; the weather should be perfect, today."

"Sounds like fun," Sam agreed, grinning broadly, " _especially_ if you wear that bathing suit."

Quinn looked at Sam out of the corner of her eye, a barely-concealed crestfallen expression on her face. "Sam, that's _so_ unprofessional," she admonished.

"Sorry," Sam apologized.

"That's OK, Sam; I appreciate the compliment," Rachel acknowledged. "However, I don't think I'll be wearing that particular bathing suit any more today. My fiancé…" she paused, glaring at Noah before continuing, "…prefers me in more demure attire."

"Well, I always say, 'if ya' _got_ it, _flaunt_ it'," Noah remarked, "and, Rachel, you've 'got it'… _in spades_." Grinning slyly, he winked at Rachel, who rolled her eyes exasperatedly as the others followed Noah out of the room.

"Still incorrigible as ever," Rachel muttered, unable to repress the slight smile that found its way onto her face, shaking her head as she retreated upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As the group approached the dining room, Noah's cellphone rang. Everyone paused momentarily while he answered the phone.

" _Hello…Yeah?...Wow, that was fast…That's interesting…Sure, I'll meet you…let's say two hours…Great job, man! Yeah, see ya' later…_ "

Noah ended his call and explained, "Well, looks like this is where I get off the 'crazy train' for today. Quinn and Sam," he addressed the reporters, "Be gentle on 'er. San," he turned his attention toward Santana, "talk to you later. Becs," he addressed his sister, who had met them at the entrance to the dining room, "take care of Ma…and Rachel for me. I gotta bounce…" He exchanged a kiss with his sister, waived to the group, and walked away.

"Wait…you're _related_ to him?" Quin queried.

"Yeah, he's my big brother…why?" Rebecca pondered.

"So, you're Rachel's assistant _and_ former sister-in-law?" an increasingly puzzled Quinn posed.

Rebecca laughed as they seated themselves at the table. "Only her sister-in-law…well, former sister-in-law…and friend. Rachel doesn't have an assistant," she explained. "I'm in veterinary school in Michigan, and my mom lives here, so I visit when I'm on break."

"Your mom…lives…here?" Quinn sputtered.

"Yeah," Rebecca confirmed. "When Noah and Rachel first bought the property, they insisted that we move in. My mom sold our house in Ohio, we relocated, she got a job, and I enrolled in college. When they split up we offered to leave, but Rachel wouldn't hear of it. She said that just because their marriage didn't work out, we were still family, and this was our home, too."

"That's a bit unorthodox," Quinn commented.

"Yeah, but it works for us," Rebecca affirmed. "After all, we're Reformed, not Orthodox," she added with a wink.

Between bursts of laughter, Sam remarked, "Good one, kid…'Reformed'…so funny…"

Glaring, Quinn caught his eye, diffusing his laughter immediately, and he apologized, "Sorry, that just struck me…"

"That's OK; it was _supposed_ to be funny," Rebecca reminded him, grinning. "Laughter is a good thing…"

"Yeah, yeah…heard it all before," Santana interrupted. "I'm due in court and I have to get back to the City, so let's eat, already."

* * *

"So tell me, Rachel; how did you two meet?" Quinn gently probed as they relaxed by the pool, Sam currently swimming laps and occasionally attempting to garner their attention (so far, with little success).

Rachel smiled nostalgically, recalling, "We've known each other all our lives; a group of us came to New York for college and we started dating during our Freshman year…"

"No, Rachel; your fiancé…" Quinn corrected, thinking " _That's odd…she thought I was asking about her ex, not the man she's marrying…_ "

"Oh; sorry," Rachel apologized, an almost imperceptible wave of sadness crossing her features before she smiled serenely and began once again: "About six months ago, I attended a 'Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS' fundraiser with my friend Kurt Hummel. We were chatting with some friends when this handsome man seemingly materialized in front of us. He confessed that he'd been admiring me from across the room and had finally worked up the courage to approach me." She glanced up, looking directly at Quinn and smiling demurely before continuing, "I was still relatively gun-shy at the time, but with Kurt's encouragement, we struck up a conversation and discovered we had a lot in common. He asked for my number, he called, and we started going out. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, he was down on one knee with a Tiffany ring box…"

"And now you're getting married," Quinn interjected, completing Rachel's anecdote.

"Yes; now we're getting married," Rachel agreed, looking down at the ring as it sparkled in the sunlight. "He treats me well, there's no drama, and I know I'll never answer another 3AM call to retrieve my drunken husband from some dive bar in a less-than-nice part of town."

"And you're in love…" Quinn prodded, noting to herself that Rachel hadn't mentioned feelings at all in her narrative.

"Yes; of course I'm in love," Rachel hastily confirmed. "I wouldn't be marrying Sebastian if I didn't _love_ him."

"Of course…I wasn't suggesting anything to the contrary…" Quinn quickly backpedaled.

"It's different this time, Rachel confided. "Sebastian is calm and steady and dependable. I know I can trust him, and that means a lot to me."

"Isn't love supposed to be about fireworks and passion and not being able to live without each other?" Quinn posed, left eyebrow cocked knowingly.

"I've had that, Quinn, and it's not all it's cracked up to be," Rachel answered quietly. "Not when it's coupled with uncertainty, and worrying every time the phone rings that it'll be from a hospital or police station...or a bar. Trust me, I've had more than my share of those, and eventually the pain overrides the passion."

"I know it's none of my business," Quinn prefaced her next statement, "but you're way too young to be sacrificing passion and romance for complacency and what sounds to me like boredom."

"Well, I hope I won't be bored, and complacency sounds blissful to me," Rachel confirmed. "You'll meet him at Blaine's party tomorrow and you can judge for yourself." Rachel paused thoughtfully for a moment before leaning toward Quinn and softly asking, "Can I trust you to keep this completely off the record?"

"You have my word," Quin averred in an equally hushed tone.

"I got off birth control after Noah and I broke up and never started up again. I haven't discussed this with Sebastian, yet, but I'd like to have a baby before I go back to work," Rachel shyly admitted.

Although Quinn was extremely surprised with Rachel's revelation, she maintained her composure, asking, "How do you think he'll react?"

"I don't know," Rachel answered honestly. "I hope he'll be thrilled. If he's not, either I'll go back on the pill, or this'll be one of the shortest unions since Britney Spears married that kid in Las Vegas. Noah and I always talked about having children, but I couldn't have handled him _and_ a baby. I still want to have children, though…"

" _Well, good luck with_ _that_ ," Quinn thought to herself, saying, instead, "I hope everything works out for you…and, I promise not to include this information in our broadcast.

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Rachel acknowledged with a grateful smile.

After checking her watch, Quinn stood up, explaining, "If you'll excuse me, I have to catch up with my email and work on another assignment. I'll see you later, Rachel. Thanks again for your hospitality."

"You're welcome, Quinn," Rachel graciously replied.

Quinn smiled in acknowledgement, waiving at Sam before she left the pool area. Rachel had just closed her eyes when Sam called from the pool, "Come on, Rachel! The water's perfect!" Opening her eyes, Rachel looked out at Sam, finding herself mirroring his infections grin. She sat up, quickly French braiding her hair into a single plait in back and then twisted it around her head, securing it with clips that she withdrew from the pocket of her short robe. She stood up, removed her robe (revealing a halter-topped black and white maillot), walked over to the diving board, and seamlessly dove into the water.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Rachel swam the length of the pool, standing up in the shallow end, smiling peacefully and enjoying the soothing water that surrounded her.

"Wow; that was some dive!" Sam admired, swimming up beside her.

"Thanks," Rachel accepted his compliment. "I was on my high school swim team; my event was the 100 meter Butterfly. A lot of people were surprised that there was more to me than good grades and show tunes," she admitted, "but I've always loved to swim…and I've always been _extremely_ competitive"

"I'm impressed," Sam admitted. "My sports were primarily on dry land, although one year, I was on the synchronized swim team."

"Isn't that usually a women's sport?" Rachel playfully queried.

"Yeah," Sam admitted with a grin. "It was a great way to meet girls."

Rachel laughed, agreeing, "I'm sure it was." Momentarily ending the conversation, Rachel swam a single lap, returning to the shallow end where she pulled herself out, dangling her feet in the water.

"Back when we were in high school," Rachel reminisced, "Noah used to have a pool cleaning business. Even if it was primarily a means to gain access to the beds of the 'horny housewives of Allen County'…" she wrinkled her nose distastefully at the recollection as she continued, "…he decided that when he was an adult, as soon as he could afford it, he'd have a pool of his own. Sometimes," she recalled, "after a party or an industry event, we'd come out here for a moonlight swim," concluding to herself, " _and end up in the pool house…_ "

"And now, you'll do that with your fiancé," Sam concluded, pulling himself out also and sitting down next to Rachel.

"Actually, probably not," Rachel corrected (a little dejectedly), returning from her momentary nostalgic lapse. "Sebastian's not much of a swimmer; he claims that he 'doesn't like to get his hair wet'. I swear, sometimes he reminds me of my friend, Kurt…"

"Well, I'm always up for a late night swim, Rachel," Sam offered with a wink.

Rachel giggled, replying, "Although I appreciate the offer, I don't think Quinn would like it. Aren't you two a couple?" she gently pried.

"Mr. Ben-Israel considers fraternization grounds for dismissal, so, no," Sam glumly answered.

"But you'd like to be…" Rachel coaxed.

"Yeah," he admitted with a defeated sigh, "but the job pays well, and I need the money."

"What would you rather do?" Rachel inquired. "Anything has to be better than exposing other people's 'dirty laundry' to the world."

"Well…" Sam hesitated briefly before disclosing, "Most boys want to be 'Spiderman' or 'Wolverine' when they grow up; I wanted to be Stan Lee and _create_ characters like 'Spiderman' and 'Wolverine'."

"So, you wanted to write comic books…" Rachel gently encouraged.

"Yeah…still do," Sam admitted. "The industry is almost impossible to break into, and my parents strongly discouraged a BFA in art. We compromised, and I got my BBA from the University of Kentucky in Marketing and minored in 'Digital Media and Design', which, for me was primarily videography and graphic design. I did have a cool senior project, though…" he mused.

"What was that?" Rachel politely inquired.

"A group of us designed and published a comic book through the school paper, 'The Kentucky Kernel'. This'll sound ridiculous," he sheepishly admitted, "but the hero was a high school teacher who coached show choir. He became 'The Choir Master', and his super power was telepathically forcing criminals to stop whatever they were doing and sing show tunes." He looked at Rachel, who had begun laughing, grinned, and concluded, "We'd all been in our high school glee clubs, and it was more tongue-in-cheek than anything. We were able to put out three editions before the semester was over, and we got an 'A', so it couldn't have been all that bad…"

"You're not gonna believe this," Rachel admitted once her laughter had subsided, "but I saw that, and thought it was really clever."

Astonished that anyone outside of his circle of friends had seen it, let alone remembered it, Sam exclaimed, "You've gotta be kidding!"

"No, not at all," Rachel confirmed. "A group of us decided to go to the Kentucky Derby when we were in college…I think it was on somebody's 'bucket list'…maybe Noah's…I can't remember…" She glanced at Sam, his face a mask of disbelief, and she grinned, recalling, "Anyway, somebody found a copy, and since we were all in our school's show choir…2012 National Show Choir Champions, by the way…" she added, "…we thought it was fantastic, because we all could relate to it. Actually," she paused thoughtfully before musing, "if I'm not mistaken, Noah kept a copy, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he still has it."

"Wow, I never met anybody outside of school who actually _read_ it," Sam commented.

"Small world, isn't it?" Rachel coyly commented. "Now, how about I race you? Let's see if that synchronized swimming paid off."

"You're on!" Sam agreed, playfully splashing Rachel as they returned to the water.

* * *

"So, 'Wheels', what did ya' find out?" Noah curiously prodded Artie immediately after entering the office.

"Have a seat, Puck, and I'll fill you in," Artie replied, gesturing to the guest chairs opposite his desk.

Settling himself, Noah prompted, "OK, Artie; let's have it. What's this guy's deal? Is he on the level?"

"Well…not exactly," Artie cautiously responded.

"I _knew_ it!" Noah exclaimed. "He's after her money, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't say that, Puck," Artie answered. "From what I gathered, it sounds more like her connections."

Leaning forward slightly, Noah proclaimed, "I'm all ears, man…"

"In the first place," Artie revealed, "his real name is 'Steven Smith', and he's from Muncie, Indiana, not Philadelphia. He comes from a middle-class family; his dad owns a tire shop and his mother runs a daycare. They're nice people from what I gathered, but definitely not the 'Main-Line-Philadelphia-old-money' background that he claims." Artie glanced at Noah, making eye contact. "I'm sure you'll find _this_ interesting: he's bisexual…usually dates men, but he had a steady girlfriend when he was in college…which was at Ball State, by the way, not the Wharton School of Business."

"Unbelievable…" Noah muttered, shaking his head.

Artie continued, "He's a realtor; that much is true. He met Rachel at a 'Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS' fundraiser that he attended with his then-boyfriend. He was there to make business contacts, and his date was celebrity-stalking…well, maybe stalking's too harsh a word," Artie reconsidered, "but trying to meet celebrities."

"Why?" Noah wondered.

"No idea, man…to each his own, I guess," Artie reflected. "I got most of this information from him, and that's what I garnered from our conversation."

"How'd you find him?" Noah curiously probed.

"That, my friend, is a trade secret," Artie commented with a sly smile. "Like I said yesterday, nobody suspects 'the guy in the wheelchair', and most people will tell just about anything to a stranger, especially somebody who listens."

Noah nodded in understanding, and Artie continued: "In any case, the boyfriend saw Rachel and recognized her immediately. Smith…Smythe, whatever…on the other hand, had no idea who she was, but figured she could be a 'ticket' into the entertainment industry…wealthier clients…bigger commissions…"

Rolling his eyes, Noah interjected, "Yeah, I get it."

"Well," Artie resumed the anecdote, "Smith left his date, introduced himself, and talked her up until they exchanged numbers."

"Is he still seeing the guy?" Noah pointedly asked.

"Only as friends, from what I gathered," Artie assured him. "He's not in love with Rachel, but he's truly fond of her, and he told his ex- that he wouldn't cheat."

"From the ring she's wearing, he must be more than 'fond' of her," Noah commented.

"Oh that?" Artie chuckled. "The guy confided that his friend bought an engagement ring from one of the TV shopping channels. It's a CZ."

"You're shittin' me, man," Noah incredulously reacted.

"Not according to my source, Puck," Artie confirmed. "I guess he got a Tiffany ring box from eBay and tried to pass it off as the real thing. Your ex- is probably none the wiser."

"Based on the way she was admiring it the other day, I'm sure you're right," Noah concurred. He thought a moment before asking, "Do you have any idea what this 'wait until the wedding night' bullshit is all about? That was a big 'red flag' to me."

"Funny you should ask that, Puck," Artie remarked. "It seems that Smith was kinda 'testing the waters', because he's really more into men than women. He was pretty happy that she didn't pressure him, and figured that Rachel must be either frigid or asexual." Artie looked at Noah, noting his incredulous expression before speculating, "I got the impression that if she was more assertive, it would have scared him off."

"Man, I gotta tell ya', Rachel may be many things, but frigid is definitely _not_ one of them," Noah admitted.

"And that, my friend, borders on 'too much information'," Artie jibed.

"Which is why that's all I'll say on the subject," Noah assured him.

"So, now you know what I know," Artie concluded.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate your getting back with me so quickly," Noah acknowledged.

"If I may ask, what're you gonna do about it?" Artie curiously probed.

"That is for _me_ to know and _you_ to find out," Noah evaded with a smirk. "I do have to get going, though. What do I owe you?"

"Sugar will settle up with you, Puck." Artie explained. "Thanks again for the business." He reached out his right hand, and Noah stood up, approached the desk, and joined Artie in a warm handshake.

"Thank you, Bro," Noah sincerely replied. "I'll be in touch." With that, he left the office and stopped by Sugar's desk to pay the remainder of his bill.

Walking toward the elevator, he placed a call. " _Hello, Judge Bernstein? This is Noah Puckerman…yeah, great to talk to you, too…yeah, you're welcome…always happy to help out for a worthy cause…are you in your office? Perfect…may I stop by? Thanks, I appreciate it…no, I'll explain the whole thing when I get there…Thanks, again; see ya' soon…"_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"…Now, everybody please raise your glass to my husband, Blaine Anderson, and for continued success with his Peabody Award winning show, 'Treasure House'," Kurt Hummel concluded his toast amid the cheers and accolades of their guests.

Rachel sipped from her champagne flute as she chatted with friends and family, Sebastian at her side, a polite smile plastered on his face as he accepted congratulations on their upcoming nuptials.

Rachel placed her now-empty glass on a tray and accepted a filled one from a passing waiter. Before she could raise the glass to her lips, Sebastian paternally intervened: "Muffin, don't you think you've had enough to drink?"

Rachel eyed him defiantly, taking the beverage in one gulp rather than ladylike sips before she bluntly answered, "No."

"Muffin, tomorrow is our wedding day," Sebastian patronized. "I cannot have my future wife behaving in a manner unbecoming to herself."

"Really, Seb, chill out," Rachel chided him. "You're not my father; in fact, they're here, and they don't have a problem with it." Rachel's demeanor changed from hostile to flirtatious as she teased, "Dance with me? I want to show off my handsome fiancé…"

Sebastian complied, accepting Rachel's outstretched arms. As they moved around the dance floor, Blaine, who was talking with Noah, noticed Sebastian's distracted expression, a distinct contract to Rachel's enamored (and slightly inebriated) one.

"I wonder what's up with that guy," Blaine commented.

Noah wordlessly shook his head, thinking, " _More than you know…_ " as they continued to watch the scene unfold. Shortly thereafter, the dance ended, Sebastian kissed Rachel on the cheek and apparently excused himself, vanishing into the crowd. Rachel helped herself to an hors d'oeuvre from one platter, accepting another glass of champagne from a second server shortly thereafter.

"Rach's gonna be 'feeling no pain' tonight," Blaine teased.

"She hasn't 'let loose' in a long time…probably because of me," Noah reflected. "Better keep an eye on her, Blaine…just in case…" Noah requested.

"I'll do what I can," Blaine assured him. Kurt caught his eye, waiving him over. "Sorry, Puck; I'm being summoned…guest of honor, and all…"

"Go ahead, man," Noah excused Blaine. "Congratulations, by the way. Couldn't 'a happened to a nicer guy."

"Thanks, Puck," Blaine accepted the compliment. The men hugged each other, and then Blaine left to return to his husband.

As Noah stood people watching while he nursed his club soda, he was approached by Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans.

"Quite a shindig," Sam commented, glancing around the room.

"For the most part, everybody seems down-to-earth," Quinn noted, adding, "Not at all what I expected."

"What did you expect, Quinn?" Noah challenged. "A bunch of boring, nouveau riche snobs trying to outdo each other with how much money they have?"

"No, not at all…" she recanted, but Noah was having none of it.

"I'll have you know that most of us came from middle-class families and worked hard to get where we are," Noah defensively explained. "By and large, these are down-to-earth people who appreciate the good fortune they have and give back on a regular basis."

He looked Quinn directly in the eyes and posed, "You know Blaine Anderson; the man your boss is so eager to humiliate?" Quinn shook her head " _No_ ", to which Noah responded, "Blaine had a great career on Broadway and was about to breakthrough into movies in a big way, and he gave it up to develop a kids' show…one that doesn't pander to a short attention span, but exposes kids to the arts. He figured there were enough shows out there to teach basic reading and math skills and decided he wanted to expand their horizons, instead."

Noah looked at Quinn earnestly, continuing, "Blaine has a ton of connections, and his A-list friends have appeared on the show…for scale, I might add…to read stories or sing songs. He has musicians come and explain about their instruments, and everything from jazz bands to symphony orchestras have performed. It's overwhelming how many parents send letters and emails thanking him, talking about how their kids actually _want_ piano lessons." Noah paused briefly before adding, "Blaine believes that 'what makes us different makes us special', and, at least once a week there's a segment embracing cultural diversity. It was a breath of fresh air in children's' programming…which is why he received a Peabody Award."

"You really admire him," Quinn stated as Noah took a sip of his beverage.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted. "After Rachel kicked me out, I really hit 'rock bottom'. Blaine literally saved my life. I'd do just about anything for him…and so would Rachel…and, here you are, taking full advantage of that…at least, your boss is."

"I…I had no idea…" Quinn abashedly admitted.

"Well, now ya' know," Noah concluded.

Before the conversation could continue, Rachel giddily approached the trio.

"You're looking beautiful tonight, Rach," Noah politely admired.

"Thank you, Noah," Rachel accepted the compliment. "Have any of you seen Sebastian?"

A round of head-shaking indicated that they had not. Rachel briefly pouted, her demeanor changing instantly as she remembered something. "Oh..my G-d…Noah…" she excitedly prompted.

"Yeah, Rach?" he bemusedly responded.

"Do you remember when we went to the Kentucky Derby and we found that comic book about the glee club coach?" she hurriedly inquired.

Noah chuckled, replying, "D' ya' mean 'The Choir Master'? Yeah, that was fuckin' hilarious. I think I have that packed away, somewhere. What made ya' think of that after all these years?"

"Sam _wrote_ it," she explained, beaming at Sam.

"You're kidding…" Noah incredulously replied.

"Guilty as charged, Sam admitted, grinning at Quinn's surprised expression.

"Man, that was _awesome_ ," Noah admired. "Why'd you give it up?"

"It was a senior project, that's all," Sam explained. "A guy's gotta eat, and the comic book industry wasn't exactly clamoring for my talent, such as it was."

Before anyone could comment further, the music changed. Rachel, who had procured yet another glass of wine, was swaying gently to the music.

"Lovely lady, may I have the pleasure of this dance," Sam requested.

As both Noah and Quinn looked on, doing their best to conceal their jealousy, Rachel teased, "I would be honored, kind sir," and they danced off together.

"May I?" Noah inquired.

"I thought you'd never ask," Quinn accepted with a demure smile, and they began dancing, keeping their distance from Sam and Rachel but, at the same time, surreptitiously watching them as they made their way around the dance floor.

"You've got it bad," Noah observed.

"So do you, said the 'kettle' to the 'pot'," Quinn softly retorted.

"I fucked up, Quinn," Noah admitted. "Now she's with this _Sebastian_ guy, who's as shady as a maple tree…"

"What makes you say that, Puck?" Quinn prodded.

"Oh…nothing," Noah stopped himself from revealing anything, "just a hunch."

"Jealous, much?" Quinn teased.

"Yep," Noah tersely answered. "Enough about them," he deflected. "Let's enjoy the party."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Although Blaine and Kurt and Kurt are married in this story, I decided that they would both keep their last names, if for nothing more than professional reasons.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Oh, Sam, let's rest for a minute…" an exhilarated if slightly winded Rachel requested. "You're dancing me off my feet."

"I always wanted to sweep a lady off her feet," Sam flirted.

"I didn't say 'swept', Sam," Rachel teasingly chided, "You've _danced_ me off my feet."

"Same difference…" Sam commented with a grin.

"So not…" Rachel corrected, helping herself to another cocktail as a waiter passed them. She was about to sip from the glass when Noah and Quinn danced by, stopping when they met.

"Having a good time, there, Rach?" Noah inquired with a wink.

"Sooooooo good, Noah," an obviously inebriated Rachel confirmed. "This is a _wonderful_ party."

"Yes, it is," Noah agreed. Before anyone had a chance to speak, the band began another song, and the vocalist sang " _Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor..._ "

"Listen, Noah," Rachel excitedly announced, "They're playing 'our song'." She looked at him wistfully, inviting, "Dance with me?"

Hesitating only a moment, Noah smiled nostalgically and he acquiesced, "Sure, Rach." Taking her in his arms, they danced away, leaving Quinn and Sam alone.

"May I interest you in a dance, Miss Fabray?" Sam invited.

"Of course, Sam," Quinn answered with a soft smile.

* * *

"You look beautiful, Rachel," Noah complimented as they danced.

"Thank you Noah," Rachel accepted. "You look rather dapper yourself."

"Thanks, Rach," he modestly replied.

Smiling gently, Rachel hummed along to the music.

"It's nice to see you so carefree," Noah fondly observed. "It's been a long time…maybe not since college. I'm afraid that's probably my fault," he admitted. "I'm truly sorry, Rach; I never meant to hurt you."

"That's OK, Noah," Rachel placated. "Everything is soooo fabulous tonight, and I love everybody. I love Kurt, I love Blaine, I love you..." Rachel's eyes widened as she continued, "Oops…I probably shouldn't've said that," she tipsily confessed, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. "After all, I'm getting married tomorrow…"

"' _In vino veritas_ ', Rachel," Noah quietly reminded her. "You know how I feel, Baby," he affirmed, drawing her closer and tenderly tilting her face toward his.

"Noah, please; stop," Rachel softly requested, lightly placing her right index finger over his mouth to silence him. "I've made a comm...commitimit…" floundering for the correct pronunciation, she settled on "…promise…"

Gently moving her hand away, Noah hesitantly responded, "But, Rachel, there's…something I need to tell you..."

"What is it, Noah?" Rachel prompted.

Noah had barely opened his mouth to reply when he was tapped on the shoulder…by Sebastian.

"I've been looking all over for you, Muffin," Sebastian paternally rebuked Rachel, largely ignoring Noah as he stepped between the pair. "It's well past time for all good little brides-to-be to head off to sleep."

"But, Sebastian, the night is still _young_ ," Rachel pouted. "I'm not ready to leave, yet."

"Well, then, rest for a minute," he placated. "Come, now, Muffin." Turning toward Noah, Sebastian dismissively announced, "I've got this under control, Puckerman. We'll be saying good night, now." He placed his right hand at the small of Rachel's back, guiding her away from the activity and into the house, where he found a quiet spot in the den. "You sit here and collect yourself, Rachel," Sebastian instructed. "I've got to talk to somebody about business, but I should be back in 20 minutes, and I'll see you home safely."

No sooner had Sebastian left the room than Rachel grinned impishly, stood up and headed back toward the party, helping herself to another glass of champagne, sipping as she wandered back toward the party. She'd barely left the house when she was intercepted by Sam, who was struggling to untie his bow tie.

"Boy, is it hot tonight, or is it just me?" Sam posed, finally freeing his neck and clumsily unbuttoning his collar.

"Both," Rachel giggled in reply. She pondered momentarily before giddily announcing, "I know what let's do…let's go for a midnight swim." She glanced around before conspiratorially whispering, "The coast is clear; no sign of Sebastian anywhere." Playfully grabbing Sam's hand, she grinned mischievously, encouraging, "Let's go," and the duo snuck off together, somewhat unsteadily retreating toward Rachel's neighboring property.

* * *

Her dress shed in favor of a shocking pink bathing suit, a sheer matching cover-up carelessly tossed over her shoulders, Rachel stood at the foot of the stairs, impatiently calling, "Hurry up, Sam. If you're not down here in two minutes, I'm goin' without you."

"I'm comin'," Sam's voice echoed from upstairs. Although bit unsteady on his feet, he somehow made it down the steps without tripping. "OK, Rachel," he pronounced, taking her left hand in his right one, "time for a li'l swim..." Somewhere between the staircase and the patio door, Rachel's jacket slipped off, unnoticed as it floated to the floor behind them. Exiting through the back, their journey was temporarily stopped by Rachel's cell phone. She glanced at it, noting the number was Sebastian's, rolled her eyes, shrugged, and deposited the phone on the nearest table. Rachel turned, closing the French doors, and they continued, stumbling their way toward the pool.

Upon reaching their destination, Sam glanced at his watch to note the time, realizing, "Hey, Rachel! I can't go in the pool with my watch on. This was my grandfather's watch; it's one of those wind-up ones…"

"Pool house…" Rachel nodded toward the structure to their right. "I'm sure Noah's robe's in there. You can put it in the pocket."

Sam did as he was told and returned shortly with two plush white terrycloth robes, one considerably smaller than the other.

"Which…which one?" he sputtered out, holding one robe in each hand.

Unsuccessfully choking back laughter, Rachel confirmed, "The bigger one, silly…"

Sam did as instructed, fumbling to remove his family heirloom and stuffing it in a pocket before he deposited the robes on the closest chair while Rachel looked on, fondly observing his somewhat clumsy attempt. Upon completion, Sam looked up, noting the moonlight bouncing off the water that seemed to illuminate Rachel from within.

Sam approached Rachel, stopping only a hairsbreadth away. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Rachel?" Sam quietly asked, gently brushing back a stray hair that had found its way onto her face.

"That's a lovely thing to say, Sam," Rachel accepted his compliment, sighing dejectedly. "Sometimes, I think that's why Sebastian's marrying me…because I look good on his arm." She paused briefly before continuing, "He treats me like I was made out of glass, Sam…something to be put on a shelf and admired from afar…maybe taken down for special occasions. Am I really that…just a decoration?" she asked, searching his face as a single tear ran down her cheek.

"Rachel, as far as I'm concerned, you're anything but that," Sam quietly disagreed, looking deeply into Rachel's eyes. "You're…you're amazing, Rachel. I've never met anybody like you. I see fire and passion when I look in your eyes, and if that guy doesn't…well…" Rachel's breath hitched, causing Sam to pause momentarily. Noting that he had her complete attention, he added, "If you weren't an engaged woman, Rachel, then I'd have to kiss you."

"Don't let that stop you, Sam," Rachel softly encouraged.

Sam drew Rachel closer and leaned in, their lips meeting. The kiss was sweet but brief; before it could escalate in intensity, Rachel playfully pulled away and called out "Last one in's a rotten egg!" She ran forward and jumped into the pool, treading water as she watched Sam follow her lead and do the same.

Sam swam toward Rachel, anticipating a continuation of what had occurred only moments before. As he floated beside her, he noticed her sudden pallor.

"Sam, I…I don't feel well…" Rachel moaned.

"Can you make it to the steps, Rachel?" Sam concernedly inquired.

"Yeah…I think so," she quietly replied.

Sam held Rachel closely as he moved toward the pool steps at the shallow end. Once there, he stood up, taking Rachel in his arms and gently carrying her out of the water.

As soon as Sam stepped on dry land, Rachel muttered, "Bathroom…pool house…hurry, Sam…"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Thanks for walking me back, Puck," Quinn acknowledged as they stood in Rachel's foyer. "I have no idea what happened to Sam…"

"Happy to be of service," Noah obliged. "Guess we're lucky that Rachel never changed the locks." He looked around, commenting, "It's pretty quiet around here. Maybe he brought Rachel home and they both went to sleep."

Skeptically raising her left eyebrow, Quinn remarked, "I don't know…they looked pretty cozy to me…maybe we should be worried…" She glanced around nervously, noticing a bright pink _something_ on the floor ahead. "What's that?" she puzzled, pointing at the unfamiliar object.

Noah approached it, picking it up and observing, "This is Rachel's…they must've gone for a swim…"

"Should I be concerned, Puck?" Quinn pondered. "Sam seemed pretty smitten…"

"Well…" Noah hesitantly began, "I can tell you that if you love someone, you have to trust them."

"And you trust Rachel? Quinn delicately probed.

"Implicitly," Noah confirmed. "I can also tell you that when we would go for a 'midnight swim', we usually ended up in the pool house."

"I see…" Quinn dejectedly mused. "And…if something happened…between them…" she hesitantly suggested, "would your feelings change?"

"No, Quinn; not at all," Noah affirmed. "Rachel's an adult, and we're not together, now. I know she'd never do anything consciously to hurt anyone, and Smythe's been keeping her at arm's length. If she can find some comfort with another man, sure, I'd feel hurt…even jealous…but I still trust her," he concluded.

Both parties deep in thought, they wordlessly left the house, Noah depositing Rachel's wrap on one of the patio chairs. As he moved away, the evening's quiet was punctuated by the ringing of a cellphone. Turning toward the offending noise, Noah noticed Rachel's phone where it had been left and, old habits apparently dying very hard, casually answered it.

" _Hello? Whatta ya' mean, 'Who is this?' Who's_ _this_ _? Oh…_ _Smythe_ _…_ _yes_ _, this is 'Puckerman'…'Where_ _am_ _I?' Not that it's any of your concern, but I'm outside on the patio…Yes, at Rachel's house…'Where's_ _Rachel_ _?'…Sorry man, no clue there…I'm escorting Ms. Fabray home from the party,_ _that's_ _what I'm doing here…You're coming over? Well, then, I guess we'll be seeing you shortly…_ " Noah replaced the phone on the table, looking wryly at Quinn. "Asshole just hung up on me. Smythe's on the way over."

"This suddenly got a heck of a lot more interesting," Quinn noted.

"Big time…" Noah concurred.

* * *

Within five minutes, the sound of a car pulling up and its door being opened and shut interrupted Quinn's and Noah's conversation.

"Here comes trouble…" Noah acerbically remarked just as Sebastian rounded the corner and made a beeline for the couple.

"Where the Hell is she, Puckerman?" Sebastian bellowed. "What've you done with my fiancée?"

"Like I told you, _Smythe_ , I have no idea where Rachel is." Noah cocked his left eyebrow, posing "You're marrying her tomorrow…well, actually, today. Isn't that your job…knowing where Rachel is?"

"Oh, cut the crap, Puckerman; I know all about your kind…actors and singers and artists…"

"Oh, my…" Quinn slyly interjected.

Casting a scathing glare in her direction, an obviously agitated Sebastian refocused on Noah, continuing, "You live lives of debauchery, swilling alcohol and changing partners like ' _normal_ ' people change their socks. I wanted to pull Rachel out of your little 'cesspool', but _you_ and _your kind_ keep trying to drag her back down…"

"What the fuck, Smythe, 'lives of debauchery'? Noah blurted out, laughing incredulously.

Before Sebastian could retort, all eyes shifted toward a distant figure clad in white. As it approached, it became clearer that there were two people, one snuggled in the arms of the other: Sam and Rachel. No bathing suits were visible, supporting the illusion that they were naked underneath.

Sam approached the group, smiling sheepishly until he caught Quinn's wounded expression.

"Why're we stopping, Sammy?" Rachel queried. She opened her eyes and raised her head from Sam's chest, glancing around and noting their audience. "Hi, Noah; hello, Quinn" Rachel greeted them in a soft voice. "Hello, Sebastian," she acknowledged her fiancé, deepening her voice as if to mimic him.

"Rachel, what the Hell! What's the meaning of…of this? I _demand_ an explanation…" Sebastian indignantly declared, sweeping his right arm to gesture at her current position.

"Oh, Sammy and I just came back from a swim; right, Sammy?" Rachel lightly answered, looking up at Sam and giggling.

"Um…right…" Sam answered, a bit startled at the absurdity of his immediate surroundings.

"I'm so tired, Sammy," Rachel confessed with a yawn. "Will you please take me to bed?" she asked with a shy smile.

"Um…sure, Rach," he hesitantly acquiesced. Rachel sighed contentedly, laying her head on Sam's chest once again.

"Good night, all," Rachel dreamily announced.

"Past the top of the stairs, second room on the right," Noah directed Sam, who opened the door with his free hand, entering the house and effectively leaving the drama behind. Noting Sebastian's irate glare, Noah added, "I used to live here, ya' know…"

"Don't remind me," Sebastian condescended.

Sensing that her presence might no longer be welcome, Quinn bid a hasty "Good night" and retreated into the house. Reaching the foot of the staircase, she observed Sam leaving Rachel's bedroom, his bathing suit now in plain sight as he turned toward his assigned bedroom and quietly walked away. Emitting a soft sigh of relief, she also headed off to bed.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the patio…

"Puckerman, look what you and your ilk have done to my fiancée…" Sebastian raged.

Oh, please!" Noah testily responded. "Give me a break, Smythe…Smith…what-the fuck-ever your name is…"

Sebastian's eyes widened at the name "Smith", and he audibly gasped.

"That's right," Noah confirmed, making eye contact, "I know all about you. I know you're using Rachel, and it stops now."

"Or what?" Sebastian countered.

"Those people, Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans?" Noah nodded his head toward the house before staring down Sebastian. "Contrary to what you may've been told, they work for 'Spy TV', and they're here to cover the wedding. What a _perfect_ way for your family back in Indiana to find out that you're married to a famous actress…and that your life is nothing but _one big lie_. Just think of how _proud_ your parents will be…"

"Shit!" Sebastian whispered, shaking his head ruefully as he imagined his ticket to wealthy clients being mercilessly shredded.

"Shit is right, Smith, and it's up to you to fix it," Noah advised.

Sebastian slumped down on the nearest chair. Head in hands, he pondered, "Why are they here? Rachel isn't a 'media whore', so she wouldn't have done this on her own." He looked up, accusing, "You set this up, didn't you, Puckerman? You just _had_ to get her back, and you went out of your way to humiliate me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Smith," Noah retorted. "Their being here has nothing to do with you." He disgustedly observed, "I can't believe that you could treat Rachel like this…that you actually intended to go through with this sham of a marriage. When were you planning on telling Rachel that you prefer men…on the _honeymoon_?"

"For the record, Puckerman, I had a girlfriend in college," Sebastian asserted.

"One girlfriend…among multiple 'boyfriends'…" Noah reminded him.

"But…her fathers are gay…she'll understand…" Sebastian weakly argued.

"Accepting people for who they are and being your husband's 'beard' are two different thing entirely, Smith," Noah affirmed. "I'd suggest you go home and figure out what you're gonna do." He glanced at his watch, reminding him, "You've got about seven hours…"

Coming to his feet, Sebastian turned to face Noah, conceding, "Looks like you've won, Puckerman. See ya' around…" He walked off dejectedly, his posture conveying his defeat. The final reminder of his presence was the sound of his car driving away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Morning found Rachel cautiously stepping outside, large sunglasses concealing her eyes. She was already dressed: a blush pink chiffon dress delicately embroidered with white flowers. Rebecca was seated on the patio, sipping coffee and thumbing casually through a magazine. Seeing Rachel, she noted, "Glad to see you're finally up. I almost thought you were going to miss your own wedding."

"My, isn't it _sunny_ today…" Rachel commented, ignoring her former sister-in-law's remarks as she awkwardly glanced around, eyes shaded by her left hand (and squinting in the light, even behind her dark glasses).

"' _Happy is the bride that the sun shines on_ '…isn't that what they say?" Rebecca teased, smirking at Rachel's apparent discomfort.

"I…I think so…" Rachel hesitantly replied. She held up her right hand, dangling a man's watch. "Do you have any idea what this is? I…I found it in my room this morning. I almost stepped on it when I got out of bed."

"Looks like you had an interesting evening, Rach," Rebecca sardonically remarked.

"Um…I guess…" Rachel distractedly replied, continuing to stare at the watch.

Before Rachel had a chance to muse further, Noah entered from the patio door.

"Noah, what are you doing here?" Rachel blurted out, swiftly drawing her right hand behind her as she turned to face Noah. "You can't be here…Sebastian will be furious…"

Smirking lightly, Noah tapped on her right shoulder, teasing, "What've you got there Rach? Hiding something?"

Shamefacedly, Rachel revealed her "prize".

"Looks like a man's watch," Noah observed. "Anybody I know?"

"Really Noah, whatever _are_ you insinuating?" Rachel defensively retorted.

"Nothing, Rach," Noah placated, his smile broadening at Rachel's obvious discomfort. Before he had a chance to torment her further, Sam and Quinn came outside.

"Rachel, where'd you find my watch?" Sam queried. "I've been looking for it everywhere; it was my grandfather's, and I was worried that I'd lost it."

"Your…watch?" Rachel barely squeaked out, gingerly holding the offending item between her thumb and forefinger, which Sam took, fastening the strap to his wrist as he checked the time.

"Yeah, thanks for finding it," Sam gratefully acknowledged, looking up. "Where was it?"

"I almost stepped on it this morning when I got out of bed," Rachel admitted. "How did it get there?" she cautiously prodded.

An amused Noah, hurt (but understanding) Quinn, and amazed Rebecca wordlessly watched the drama (or comedy, depending on one's perspective) unfold.

"Don't you remember?" Sam posed.

"Exactly _what_ should I remember, Sam?" Rachel tentatively inquired.

Grinning, Sam recalled, "Well, you asked me to 'take you to bed', so I did." Rachel's face registered disbelief, causing Sam to prompt, "You don't remember last night at all, do you, Rachel?"

"Of course I do, Sam…" Rachel hesitantly countered. "I…I just think we should discuss it…elsewhere…"

Sam laughed, enlightening her (everyone), "Rachel, there's nothing to discuss. We left the party and went for a swim, you got sick, I put you in your bed and returned to my own room, where I promptly fell asleep."

"Did you find me so unattractive that you couldn't wait to leave me?" Rachel indignantly posed.

"Actually, Rachel, I find you _extremely_ attractive," Sam assured her (to Quinn's and Noah's visible disconcertion). "I really like you, we have fun together, and I _definitely_ enjoyed our kiss…"

"We…kissed?" Rachel whispered.

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged, "out by the pool."

"Then why did you leave?" Rachel (somewhat indignantly) probed.

"Well, you had a lot to drink last night…we both did," Sam explained. "I'd never take advantage of the situation."

"That's very chivalrous, Sam, and I appreciate it," a considerably relieved Rachel acknowledged.

"As do I…" Quinn noted.

"Look, Quinn…I'm…I'm sorry," Sam hesitantly apologized.

"Sam, you have nothing to feel sorry about," Quinn insisted.

"Yeah, I do," Sam asserted. "If it wasn't for Ben-Israel and his damn policy…" Sam ruminated, concluding, "Ya' know what? This is gonna be my last assignment. I'm quitting, effective tomorrow." He glanced bashfully at Quinn, a slow grin forming as he asked, "Quinn, would you like to go out with me…like, tomorrow?"

"Are you sure, Sam?" Quinn posed. "It's not worth losing your job."

"It is to me," Sam insisted. "I'll find something…I'm not worried."

He walked over to Quinn, taking her right hand to his mouth and kissing it, eliciting a beaming smile and a simple response, "I'd love to, Sam."

Witnessing Sam's romantic gesture prompted Rachel to apologize, "I'm so sorry, Quinn."

"For what, Rachel?" Quinn gently inquired.

"Flirting with Sam," Rachel clarified. "You like each other, and I shouldn't have…behaved…like that."

"That's OK, Rachel; don't worry about it," Quinn assured her. "Everybody lets loose once in a while…it's perfectly natural."

"Perfectly natural…" Noah concurred.

"I don't think Sebastian will agree," Rachel dejectedly stated. "He didn't seem to approve at all…"

"Shit, Rachel; you're a grown woman!" Noah hotly interjected. "If he doesn't appreciate the amazing woman you are then he doesn't deserve you."

Smiling gently, Rachel acknowledged, "Thank you, Noah. I appreciate your candor." Before she had an opportunity to speak further, Noah's mother joined them, handing an envelope to Rachel.

"Rachel, dear, a young man just dropped this off for you," she explained, handing Rachel the missive.

Opening the letter, Rachel read the enclosed note, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"Oh, my G-d; I don't believe this," she moaned. "Listen to this…" she began, sharing the contents:

" _Dear Rachel:_

 _The events I witnessed this morning caused me to do some soul searching and I have concluded that a union between us would be unwise. I mean you no disrespect; I simply believe that you deserve someone who will make you happy, and I am not that person. I have already notified my guests, and they will not be in attendance. Please accept my apologies for this sudden change of heart and take my word that it is truly for the best._

 _Sebastian Smythe"_

"Oh, my G-d, Noah, what am I gonna do?" Rachel fretted, note clutched in her right hand as she sank down on the nearest chair. Removing her sunglasses with her left hand, she placed them on the table. Eyes downcast, she wiped a tear from her eye with the knuckle of her index finger.

Noah sat down next to Rachel and took her free hand, their fingers lacing together naturally. "Look, Rachel…" He paused briefly, considering whether or not to tell her everything, and concluding that she deserved to know the truth. "I had a bad feeling about this Sebastian guy, and I hired a private detective to do a little digging…"

"What!" Rachel incredulously exclaimed, pulling her hand away and quickly standing up. "Noah, how _could_ you…"

"Like I said, Rach, something felt 'off'," Noah explained. "I only found out on Friday, and I tried to tell you last night. Anyway, this guy…Sebastian…isn't who he pretended to be."

"What do you mean, Noah…' _pretended_ '? Rachel challenged.

Noah patted the seat next to him, and Rachel sat down, sighing dejectedly. Aligning his body to face Rachel, Noah took her right hand in his left, squeezing it lightly for reassurance. He revealed, "Rach, truth is, he thought you would be an 'in' to people with deep pockets and expensive taste in real estate. He's not from Pennsylvania, he didn't graduate from Wharton, and his last serious relationship was with a _man_."

"No…" Rachel quietly denied, shaking her head, "that can't be true."

Nodding somberly as he made eye contact, Noah confirmed, "I'm sorry, Baby. I wish it wasn't, but it is."

"But…he gave me this ring…" she countered, shakily holding out her left hand, palm facing out as she eyed the brightly sparkling ring in disbelief.

"Rach, he bought that off TV," Noah clarified. "It's not a real diamond."

Hastily retracting her hand, she yanked the ring off, setting it down on the closest table. Deeply exhaling, Rachel gently shook her head, the barest of smiles altering her otherwise somber expression. "I'll have to send that back," Rachel mused, sardonically adding, "Maybe he can get a few bucks for it on eBay."

"You don't sound exactly heartbroken, Rachel," Quinn prompted.

"Actually, Quinn, now that I think about it, I feel _relieved_ ," Rachel admitted. "Sebastian was always so evasive about…well, just about everything." She paused thoughtfully, recalling, "He insisted on personally mailing his parents' wedding invitation, and he told me they were on 'an extended tour of Europe' and sent their regrets." She rolled her eyes, concluding, "And I absolutely _loathed_ being called 'Muffin'."

"I noticed that," Noah concurred with a chuckle.

The silence that descended upon the small group as they each processed the recent turn of events was broken by a jovial Kurt. Stepping beside Rachel, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, reminding her, "Rachel, you'd better get in there; Hiram is making small talk with the rabbi, Leroy is frantically searching for your apparently missing groom, and the guests are getting restless."

Rachel wordlessly handed the note to Kurt, who browsed it, his expression morphing from jovial to stunned. "I'm so sorry Rachel. I never should've pushed you two together," he apologized.

"It's not your fault at all, Kurt," Rachel appeased her friend. "We were all duped."

Sighing deeply, Rachel mentally gathered herself together. "I suppose I'll just tell everyone the wedding's off, and to go ahead and enjoy the buffet…"

Rather than releasing her hand, Noah hesitantly interjected, "Rach, um…before you do that..."

"Yes, Noah?" Rachel softly replied.

"Well…ya' see, for our fourth anniversary, I was kinda planning to surprise you with a 'real' wedding, with the whole 'eloping to Vegas' thing, and all…Kurt was helping me plan it…"

Rachel looked incredulously at Kurt, who nodded, confirming Noah's statement. She returned her startled gaze to Noah, who continued, "I had a Ketubah designed and everything…then, you kicked my sorry ass out, and, well, that was that. The Ketubah was delivered about a week or so later. Ma still has it…" He turned his head toward his mother, querying "Don't you?"

"Yes, son, I do," she assured him.

"Well, anyway, Baby," he refocused on Rachel, "I still love you, and I think you still love me…" He smiled as she nodded silently in response. "Do you trust me, now, Rachel?" he earnestly posed. "I swear, I'm clean and sober, and I'll never go back…"

"Yes, Noah, I do," Rachel affirmed. "But…I behaved pretty badly yesterday…I think the question is…do you trust me?"

"'Course I do, Rach. If we can't trust each other, well…anyway, we do, so, Baby…please…marry me again?"

Noah pulled out a ring from the inner pocket of his jacket and held it out to her.

"Nanna Connie's engagement ring?" she gasped.

"Yeah, she gave it to me. She wants you to wear it…If you'll have me…" he shyly proposed.

"Oh, Noah; of course I'll marry you again," she accepted. Rachel held out her recently barren left hand, and Noah slid the elegant antique ring onto her third finger.

Debbie, Rebecca, Quinn, and Kurt were all dabbing away tears when Rachel suddenly realized, "Noah, we can't get married today; we don't have a license, and you have to wait 48 hours..."

Grinning, Noah confessed, "I stopped by Judge Bernstein's office on Friday, and he took care of it for us. All ya' have to do is sign it. Ma," he turned to his mother, requesting, "would you please get the Ketubah and let Rachel's dads know…and the rabbi, too…"

"Of course, honey," Debbie agreed, leaving the group to retrieve the Ketubah and gather the specified parties.

"Kurt, would you mind telling Blaine that there's an opening for 'best man' that I'd like him to fill?" Noah inquired.

"It will be my pleasure, Puck," Kurt assured him. "See you at the wedding," he happily added as he also removed himself, entering the house.

Shortly thereafter, Santana burst outside, demanding, "Rachel, what the fuck is going on? Is it true? Did that asshole just 'cut and run'?" Tina Cohen-Chang breathlessly joined them, her questioning eyes darting between Rachel and Santana.

"Yes, Santana, it's all true," Rachel confessed.

"Well, then," Santana announced, "if I don't have to deal with this 'maid of honor' shit any more, I'm kicking off these heels and heading for the bar."

"Wait a minute, Santana," Noah stopped her, "the wedding's still on, just with a different groom."

"You?" Santana posed, eyes locked with Noah's.

"Yeah," Noah admitted, grinning happily.

"Cohen-Chang, ya' owe me 50 bucks…I _told_ you this would happen…" Santana crowed, teasing her long-time friend.

"That's one bet I'm glad to lose," Tina giddily confirmed. "Congratulations, Rachel…Puck…" Tina hugged her friends, each in turn. "Guess I'm still a bridesmaid," she mused.

"Santana," Rachel turned toward her other friend, inquiring "would you mind being 'demoted' to bridesmaid?"

"Not at all, Rach; why?" Santana responded.

Rachel walked over to Rebecca, requesting, "Rebecca, would you be my maid of honor?"

"Rachel, are you sure?" Rebecca posed. "I mean, I don't have on a super-fancy dress…"

"You're in a black dress, and so are they," Rachel confirmed, "and their dresses are different, so you'll blend in. There's an extra bouquet, too…for a friend of Sebastian's who obviously won't be here. Sisters?" she held out her arms for a hug, which Rebecca returned.

"Always," Rebecca confirmed.

Ending their embrace, Rachel reached her right hand to Noah, who joined her, their fingers intertwining once again. "I guess we'd better let the guests know about the change in plans," she admitted. "I only wish Nanna Connie was here…"

"Oh, she is," Noah confessed. "When did you think I got the ring?"

"Confident, aren't you?" Rachel teased. "What if I'd said 'no'?"

"Let's just say I'm grateful you didn't," Noah diplomatically answered. "I don't get dressed up like this for 'shits and giggles'."

Suddenly realizing that Noah was wearing a tailored charcoal suit rather than a pair of jeans and random band t-shirt, she flirtatiously commented, "You do clean up nicely, Mr. Puckerman."

"And you make one hell of a beautiful bride, soon-to-be Mrs. Puckerman." Turning to face their remaining friends, Noah announced, "Come on, everybody, we're going to a wedding…"

Quin and Sam left first to set up their equipment, followed by the three women.

"Noah," Rachel crooked her index finger, gesturing him to lean in. She whispered something in his ear, smiling shyly as she pulled away to gauge his response.

"Oh, Baby!" he exclaimed, picking her up by the waist and twirling around. "Let's get this party _started_ …"

Setting Rachel down on the ground once more, they entered the house arm-in-arm, closing the door behind them.

* * *

Three months later…

"…And, thank you once again, Rachel Berry and Noah Puckerman, for inviting us into your beautiful home and allowing us to share your special day."

Smiling, Quinn paused before revealing, "I had lunch with Rachel last week, and she shared the most amazing news. Noah will be producing her debut album, which they anticipate will be released next year. In the meantime, she's reviewing scripts and wanted to thank her fans for their support and assure them that she's not retiring from the theater. In the meantime, they're collaborating on a more intimate project: their first child, who's due to make his or her appearance next spring. Rachel and Noah, 'Spy TV' wishes you the best of luck and success in both of your upcoming endeavors."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : And that, dear friends, concludes this story. If you can, please watch "The Philadelphia Story". It is not to be missed, and you'll immediately understand where the basic plot points originated (major exception being the deceiving, bisexual fiancé...the guy was a pompous ass, but that's all). The only issue I've never been able to reconcile (in the movie) is how they got married without a license. Oh, well, one plot hole in an otherwise fabulous script.

And, although not originally intentional, Rachel's dress is a homage to the one that Grace Kelly wore in "High Society", which was the musical remake of "The Philadelphia Story", as well as said actress' final film before she became Princess of Monaco.

A Ketubah is a marriage contract. It specifies the obligations of a couple toward each other, and it is primarily ceremonial rather than legally binding. They range from simple to elaborately designed, depending on the tastes (and budget) of the couple.

Until next time, Peace out!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Since we can't PM a guest, I thought it best to clarify what may be confusing.

After Noah and Rachel were married for a few years, he decided to surprise her with a "real" wedding, perhaps to make up for the hell he was putting her through. I didn't dig deeper into the character's rationale; I used this so there would be an available Ketubah at the end.

I assume he would have told her at some point so she could have some input (being such a "type A" personality and all) and pick out a dress, flowers, etc. He designed and ordered a special Ketubah, but she was fed up with his behavior and divorced him. The Ketubah was too far along to be canceled, so it was delivered, and his mother held onto it.

When he found out that Sebastian was a fraud, he took a chance and called in a favor from a judge to obtain a marriage license, which is valid after 48 hours (this is the favor, because it wouldn't have been quite 48 hours) and good for two months. He took a gamble that Rachel would marry him.

There were no alternate plans for the wedding. Sebastian had called the guests he had invited (since his family was unaware, there were probably only a few), and aside from Noah's drinking-buddy cohorts, their friends were shared. The wedding was at home, so it would've been small. His mother and sister were already there, and he flew in his grandmother, ensuring that his most important family members were present.

In the play/movie, the couple are divorced because he becomes an alcoholic and she finds it intolerable. She meets a man with a humble background and political aspirations, and at the point the film begins, they are already engaged.

At the end, the fiancé wants to call off the wedding because he thought Tracy (the main character) had an affair with Mike, the reporter (I switched the reporter and photographer roles). When he learns that the "family friends" are reporters and the publisher of the gossip magazine will be attending in person (see the movie for details), he believes it would be advantageous for his career, and decides to "forgive" Tracy and marry her after all.

He asks if she'll promise to "behave" going forward, but she says "no" and breaks up with him. Mike then proposes to her (I omitted this), but she thanks him and turns him down, too.

When she goes before her guests to tell them that the wedding is canceled, her ex-husband (Dexter) suggests that they get re-married, which she accepts, and they do.

Since it bothered me that they were married without a license, the proper waiting period, and, in those days, a blood test (for VD), I decided to tie this up for my story (a blood test is no longer required).

This play was considered to be in the genre "Comedy of Remarriage", which was extremely prevalent at the time.

As ever, please feel free to PM me with any questions.


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